Twilight Hunger Part 20

"Let go of me! Help! Someone help!"

"Hey! What's going on out there?" a man's voice called. There were running feet, and then she saw forms in the darkness, coming around the side of the house. Three of them. It was too dark to make out faces at a distance. The newcomer in the lead said, "I'm a cop, mister, and you'd better let that lady go before I decide to put a bullet in your a.s.s."

The scarred man released her arm, turned and ran into the night.

The new man muttered a cuss word and took off in pursuit, while the other two, both women, rushed to either side of Morgan, asking if she were all right.

She kept her head down, clutched her robe tight, not wanting to reveal the telltale punctures on her neck to anyone. "I don't know who you all are, but I'm glad you came along when you did," she muttered.

"Just point us to the nearest door, hon," said one of them. "We'll get you inside."

She nodded, pointing to the back door, and she got her knees steady again. They helped her inside, through the back door into the kitchen, and she kept her head down, face averted, as she hurried through ahead of them. "Just wait here, will you? I just need a minute... "

She felt their eyes on her-curious, no doubt-as she hurried through the house, but they did respect her request. No one followed her. She paused at the study to lock the doors, and then she dragged herself upstairs to her room.

G.o.d, she was so weak. That b.a.s.t.a.r.d. His interruption might very well be the end of her. She shed the robe, dragged open a closet and located a silk pajama set. She pulled on the bottoms, slung the top on the bed and went to a dresser drawer, digging until she found a black turtleneck. She pulled it quickly over her head, then put on the pajama top and added slippers for good measure. When she stood in front of her full-length mirror, she saw a pale, frail woman. Curling her fingers around the neck of the s.h.i.+rt, she tugged it down, leaning closer to her reflection. The two punctures were there. Tiny, purple.

Swallowing hard, she eased the collar back into place against her skin, reached for a hairbrush and wondered who these new people were. She was going to have to go back downstairs and face them in a matter of minutes. How, when she could barely stand upright?

She would manage.

G.o.d, where was Dante? He'd vanished over the cliff but had never hit the water. She was certain she would have heard the splash if he had. What, then? G.o.d, was he all right?

Tears welling in her eyes, she tiptoed onto the balcony and looked out at the night sky. "G.o.d, Dante, are you all right? Tell me you're still alive. Tell me something, somehow. If you died because of me... "

Morgan.

His voice came clearly in her mind. And with it was a bolt of pain that was nearly blinding. She pressed her hands to her head, dropping to her knees.

I'll come to you again.

It was a promise, given with another blast of unbearable pain.

"Dante, where are you?" she said aloud. "Let me help you. Let me do something."

But there was no reply. Nothing. And she knew he wouldn't say more. Because when he sent his thoughts to her, he sent his agony, too. G.o.d, that they could be this connected-ah, but he had drunk deeply from her tonight. That might have something to do with it.

"I love you Dante," she whispered. "I swear I didn't know that man was coming. I swear it. And I'll kill him myself to protect you. I will." She had to prove it, though. She knew that. G.o.d, what he must be thinking! That she had planned this, set him up for that animal to shoot down.

Tears rolling down her cheeks, she backed inside but left the doors open so he could return to her if he were able. And then she turned, squared her shoulders and went to face the strangers downstairs.

Chapter 18.

*Maxine paced Morgan De Silva's large kitchen, taking in every detail, from the tiny square marble tiles that lined the walls to the larger marble slab in the exact same pink and gray swirls that formed the surface of the island in the center. The oblong island had four flat burners and a sink on one end. The other end was bare, with stools arranged around it. Lydia occupied one of them, but Max couldn't sit. Not with Lou out there in the night, chasing after G.o.d knew who-or what.

"Did you see what I saw?" she asked. Really just to fill the silence. There was no doubt in her mind that Lydia had spotted it.

"What?" the older woman asked.

"On that white robe she was wearing? The collar?"

Lydia looked at her blankly, then shook her head.

"Blood, Lydia. Just a little, a drop or two. But it was there. And so was the way she clutched that collar around her neck."

"I a.s.sumed she was cold, or shaken. Maybe both."

Max shook her head firmly. "She was hiding something. Did you see how fast she hurried out of here?"

"She was upset, Maxine."

"Ten to one she comes back here wearing something that covers her neck." She paced toward the back door again, parted the curtain to peer out. "G.o.d, I wish he'd get back here." Max sighed in frustration, gripped the k.n.o.b. "To h.e.l.l with this. I'm going after him." As she jerked the door open, Lou came puffing tiredly up the steps.

Max managed to keep herself from flinging her arms around him, but she did give him a good look. No damage that showed. "You catch him?"

"He's long gone. I didn't even get within sight of him."

"d.a.m.n."

Lou sank onto a stool, only to rise again when the woman they had inadvertently rescued reappeared in the kitchen. Max's gaze went straight to her neck, and when she saw the black turtleneck, she sent a smug look at Lydia. But Lydia wasn't looking back at her. She and Lou were both staring at the woman as if seeing a ghost.

Frowning, Max looked back at her. Then she blinked and stared. "My G.o.d... "

"Who are you? What is this?" the woman asked, gaping at Max.

Max knew the feeling, because the same questions were spinning in her mind.

"You two are almost identical!" Lou said it as if he thought no one else had noticed.

No, they weren't, Max thought. Morgan De Silva was pale as a ghost, so thin she was bony, and her hair was long, endlessly long, and perfectly smooth, s.h.i.+ny. Maxine was no stick figure. Her hair was shorter and tended to curl if she let it grow at all. And she had color. At least enough to distinguish her from a corpse. But aside from those differences... this woman could have been her twin.

Max sank onto a stool, and that word, "twin," played and replayed in her mind. G.o.d, was it possible?

"You're Morgan De Silva," Lou said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes. But I don't understand what this is all about. Why... what... ?"

"Ms. De Silva, please, this is as much a shock to us as it is to you," Lou said slowly. He was still standing. Morgan De Silva was, too, though it didn't look as if she would be much longer. h.e.l.l, Max had to wonder how those skinny legs carried anything at all, much less an entire human being. Even one as scrawny as her.

Right on cue, she wobbled. Lou took her arms in that way of his. Non-threatening, easy. "Come on, sit down," he said. She did.

He glanced at Max. She wasn't sure if he was nudging her to speak or checking to see if she was okay. Maybe a little of both. She looked back at him, not knowing what the h.e.l.l to say.

Nodding almost imperceptibly, Lou took the lead. "I'm Lou Malone," he told Morgan De Silva. "I'm a cop from White Plains, New York. This is Maxine Stuart, and over there is Lydia Jordan. They're friends of mine."

Looking at Max unblinkingly, Morgan said, "Are you a cop, too?"

"P.I.," Max said.

Licking her lips, Morgan turned her gaze inward. "You were adopted?"

"Yeah. You?"

Morgan nodded. "Your birthday?"

"May 4th, nineteen-"

"Seventy-seven." Morgan lifted her head slowly.

Lydia was getting up, Max noticed with the part of her brain that was still capable of noticing anything beyond the woman sitting in front of her.

"Lydia?" Lou asked.

"This is private, Lou. They ought to be alone."

Nodding, Lou pressed a hand to Max's shoulder. "We'll take a walk by the water. Yell if you need us."

She nodded, not really even processing what he was saying. When the door closed, she was alone with a strangely pale, frail woman who could have been her twin. Who-maybe-was her twin. "This is really tough to wrap my mind around. I mean, I always knew I was adopted. But no one bothered to tell me I had a twin sister running around somewhere."

Morgan stared at her. "You mean this little surprise visit isn't the culmination of some kind of search?"

h.e.l.l, she sounded a little hostile. "No, it's not the culmination of anything. Until I saw your face, I had no idea."

"You hadn't seen my face before?"

"I've never even been to Maine before."

"I meant in the press. On TV."

The light dawned. "That's right. You must be kind of famous now, with the nomination and all."

"Kind of," she said. She seemed to be striving for some sort of authoritative posture, head up, spine straight, eyes focused. But Max could see the struggle, and it ruined the entire effect. "So if you didn't know about me, what are you doing here?"

"Jesus, does it matter?" Max got to her feet and moved just a little closer. Lifting a hand, she touched Morgan's face with her fingertips. "We're sisters. I can't even believe this, it's... "

Morgan lowered her eyes. "We shared a womb for nine months. It's not that big a deal."

Max let her hand fall to her side again. "Is that all this means to you?"

"Our mother obviously didn't think it was all that important. Why the h.e.l.l would she have given us up-much less split us up-if it meant anything to her? It's a biological coincidence."

"You're one cold b.i.t.c.h, aren't you?"

Morgan's eyes snapped to Marine's. "Why don't you just tell me what you want from me so we can get to the point here."

"What I want from you?"

The pale woman lifted her brows and waited.

Max rolled her eyes. "Oh, I get it. You've got money. Success. You think that's why I'm here, that I'm after a cut."

"I was just nominated for a major award. I've had a lot of press. Are you telling me that has nothing to do with your sudden interest in me?"

"I told you, I didn't know you existed until I saw your face." Max said the words as firmly as she knew how without shouting them. "The reason I came here has nothing whatsoever to do with your money or your d.a.m.ned award nomination. G.o.d, who the h.e.l.l raised you, anyway?"

"A pair of glittering Hollywood cocaine addicts, not that it's any of your business." She closed her eyes, and her head fell forward. She didn't try to fight it this time. Just let her long red locks hang in her eyes. "Once more, why are you here?"

"I'm here because my best friend is lying in a hospital bed with a bullet in her brain, in a coma from which she probably won't recover. And I want the son of a b.i.t.c.h who put her there."

Morgan blinked. It seemed to Max she had perhaps finally penetrated the sh.e.l.l around the woman's soul "I'm sorry. But I still don't see what that has to do with me."

"It has to do with vampires, Morgan."

She flinched. Max saw it clearly. She tried to cover it, but it was too late. "That's ridiculous. Vampires don't exist."

"Oh, I'm not talking about the fictional ones. I'm talking about the real ones. You know. Like in your film."

"I've had a very difficult day," Morgan said softly. "I hate to be rude, but I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The woman honestly didn't look well. "I'll leave right after I tell you a very short story. All right?"

Meeting Max's eyes only briefly, Morgan nodded. "So long as it's very short."

"So short it has no ending. Not yet, anyway. There was a compound in my hometown. Supposedly a government-run research center. It had been there for as long as I could remember, but five years ago it burned to the ground. I sneaked past the firefighters, hoping to finally get a clue what had really been going on there all those years."

Morgan interrupted with a short burst of air. "What made you think anything was going on there, besides research?"

"Armed guards. Surveillance cameras. Vehicles with government plates in and out all the time. Electrified fence. Dogs. You name it. I found two things when I got inside: an ID badge and a CD filled with information on vampires. Years worth of information. One of the vampires was called Dante, and the information about him recorded on the CD is very similar to the background of the Dante in your films."

Morgan stared attentively at her now. She no longer looked as if she were suffering the tale just to be rid of the teller. She was rapt. "And the ID badge?"

"It belonged to Frank W. Stiles, an agent of the Division of Paranormal Investigations, which I suspect is a secret division within the CIA."

"Frank W. Stiles." Morgan whispered the name.

"The reason I found those things is because they were dropped by a badly burned man as he dragged himself out of the rubble. The next thing I knew, the place was surrounded by military. I managed to slip away, but what I didn't know was that the man had seen me. And the next day he let me know that if I breathed a word about having seen him, or about anything else I might have seen that night, he would kill my best friends and my mother. My adoptive mother."

"Is this the same best friend you said was shot?"

"Yeah."

"And you think it's connected? You said yourself this incident was five years ago."